The Business of Persuasion
by noisyequestrian
Summary: Modern Persuasion. Ann Elliot and Fredrick Wentworth met 8 years ago as interns at Kellynch Co. Now Croft Inc. is buying Kellynch and Ann can't seem to escape her ex-fiance.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** *ahem* I'm not a 233-year-old Englishwoman, nor do I own any part of said author's estate. That is all. Carry on.

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**The Business of Persuasion**

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**Chapter One: In Which We Meet Our Heroine**

"Is it true, Ann?" Greta Harrison asked as I exited the conference room.

"What?" I asked, massaging my right temple. Board meetings always gave me a headache. Correction – any meeting involving my father and sister gave me a headache.

"We're being sold." Carleton Schmitt replied.

"Yeah. Sale's final on September 29."

"So long?" Greta asked.

"Dad's got some wacko requests. Plastic surgery for the new CEO. Honorary plaque."

"Standard Walter Elliot requests." Martha Russell sighed as she too exited the meeting. Everyone immediately scurried back to work. Martha patted me on the back, smiling gravely.

"And thus one era comes to an end." And then she left. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and say we'd had it coming since Mom died 14 years ago.

My name is Ann Elliot and I'm a workaholic. For the past 4 years, I've been battling a declining economy and a CEO with no business sense to keep Kellynch Company afloat. That has meant working weekends, late nights, and developing a physical and psychological dependence on caffeine.

My father, Walter Elliot, founded Kellynch some 35 years ago with my late mother, Catherine. While she was alive and in charge, Kellynch blossomed and flourished. But when she lost her battle with cancer when I was 12, the company (and our family) began a long journey to hell in a handbasket.

Martha tried to help. She was Mom's best friend and had appointed herself my unofficial guardian just after Mom started pushing up daisies. She didn't worry about my sisters – just poor, little, shy, quiet, easily persuaded me.

Beth, my other sister, had some sort of job at Kellynch. I wasn't sure that she actually _did_ anything, really. She was the very foil of me – tall, blonde, beautiful, flirtatious, a serial dater who never hung onto a guy for more than a week. Definitely symptoms of Narcissistic Personality Disorder.

Maria, the baby of the family, had full blown Dependent Personality Disorder and hypochondria. (While taking AP Psych in high school, I diagnosed my entire family with some sort of personality disorder. Me? Mildly schizoid with moderate OCPD.) She was married to Charles Musgrove (commonly known as 'Chuck', but she refused to call him that) and had two little boys. They lived in Uppercross, WI, about 6 hours north of Chicago.

And me? My relationships? I hadn't dated seriously for 8 years. Sure, I'd gone out on a few dates with well-meaning guys – I even dated Chuck for a few weeks before convincing him that my baby sister might be a better match. I'm not sure he's ever quite forgiven me. But all my relationships had ended with a kiss on the cheek and a friendly goodbye.

Except for one.

Fredrick Wentworth.

We met as interns at Kellynch. I had just graduated from high school. He was going to be a junior at the University of Wisconsin – Madison in the fall. He'd grown up in a small town in central Wisconsin, not too far from Uppercross. I'd spent my entire life in the Chicago suburbs, until Mom died and Dad moved us into the city.

Fredrick was a gentleman – kind, polite, with a smile that made my heart take up tap-dancing. He was over a foot taller than me – not hard, since I was barely pushing 5'2" – with dark curl and bright green eyes. He was perfect.

We fell in love almost immediately. His apartment over a greasy pizza parlor became my second home. He asked me to marry him in August, on the fire escape of said apartment. I said yes.

Then I made the mistake of telling Martha. I'd never seen her so furious. Fredrick was on scholarship at Madison – on need-based financial aid, no less. His parents were blue-collar workers who had never attended college themselves. I thought it was an example of the American Dream – a skinny kid from the middle of nowhere could work hard, go to one of the best schools in the country, and marry the girl of his dreams (that would be me).

Martha used other words. He was looking for a free ride. Charity case. Lazy parents. I would have to support him. I was being foolish. Naïve. Irrational. _Stupid_.

And I listened. Shoved the right back into Fredrick's hand and fled to my school, Beloit College, a week and a half early.

I expected Fredrick to follow me – Beloit wasn't that far from Madison. Try to talk some sense into me. Give me a chance to explain.

He never came.

So I cried myself to sleep every night of first semester and threw myself into my studies. I was a triple major in Economics and Management (to please my father), German (because I loved the language – and so had Fredrick) and Sociology (fulfilling a promise to my mother – and to myself). I spent a semester abroad in Erfuhrt, Germany. I was planning on attending grad school in Germany, but as soon as I moved my tassel to the other side, my father hired me and I was stuck running his company for him.

So I was stuck, on my last day before a two week 'vacation' (visiting Maria in Uppercross was hardly my idea of R and R), orchestrating the sale of Kellynch so my father could retire and the company could be saved from bankruptcy.

I wasn't sure why Croft Inc. was taking the chance on us. We had been talking through lawyers. I was supposed to meet with the CEO and CFO when I got back.

"Any other questions?" I asked my employees wearily.

"Do we still have jobs?"

"I think so. Pretty sure. I'm not sure about me, though."

There was a chorus of disappointment.

"We'll miss you, Ann."

I shrugged, "We'll see."

I had everything done by 2 and was able to get an early start for Uppercross. If I got out of the city before rush hour (and skirted around the Dells), I could make it in just under 6 hours. With rush hour traffic? I preferred not to find out.

I pulled into Maria's driveway in record time. 5 hours, 27 minutes and no speeding tickets, thank you very much.

"Mar?" I called as I opened the front door. Uppercross was a quiet little town, population 16,000. No one ever locked their doors.

"Ann?" Maria called weakly from the living room.

"Aunt Annie!" Two high-pitched voices chorused and the 4-year-old twins – Aidan and Ashton – came thundering down the stairs and firmly attached themselves to my legs.

"Now you've done it, Ann." Maria grumbled, appearing in the doorway, "They _were_ asleep."

"They were waiting for me on the stairs, Mar. Where's Chuck?"

"Charles," She immediately corrected, "is out. At his parents'. Without me."

"How are Charlie and Lily and the girls?" I asked, trying to convince Ashton to let go of my calf.

"Fine, I suppose. They haven't been over much."

"Hasn't Hannah been in Italy? And Laura just graduated from high school."

"Well, yeah." Logic. The archrival of all my family's complaints.

Aidan yawned. So did Ashton.

"Come on, little guys." I said, somehow managing to pick both of them up, "Let's go to bed."

They were almost asleep by the time we got upstairs. I read them 'Goodnight Moon', but they were out before I even finished the first page. As I closed the book and set it on the window seat, I heard the garage door groan open. Chuck must be home.

"Hey, Ann." He said, quietly shutting the back door, "I knew that was your old RAV4 out there." I've had my car since I got my license. In a rare stroke of practicality, Dad bought the Toyota for Beth when she got her license. When I turned 16, I got custody of the little white SUV I had named Ravvy. Maria bitched her way into getting a Volkswagen Beetle two years later and I've had the car ever since.

"Hey, Chuck. How's everybody at the Big House?"

He shrugged. "As dysfunctional as usual."

I snorted. "Don't even try calling your family dysfunctional, buddy. I've definitely got you beat."

"Charles Musgrove." Maria screeched, appearing in the doorway from the kitchen. He swore quietly in Swedish, a trait he picked up from his very Scandinavian college roommate.

"My darling!" He said dramatically, sweeping over and kissing her on the cheek. Maria's steely glare quickly melted.

"How is everyone up there? Did Hannah have pictures from Italy? I wish we could have gone with your parents last month. I've never been to Italy…"

I took the opportunity to grab my bags from the front hall, head up to the guest room, and pass out – fully clothed – on the bed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** Still haven't turned 233 yet. 18, on the other hand, is just a summer away. I don't own 'The King and I' either.

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**Chapter Two: In Which Our Heroine Sings Rogers & Hammerstein**

I was the first one up the next morning. Despite months – maybe years – of sleep deprivation, my internal alarm would _not _let me sleep past 7.

I tiptoed silently down the stairs, carrying my laptop. I turned on the coffeemaker and logged onto the house's wireless network.

42 unread e-mails since 1:30 yesterday. 36 were spam, allowed to flood my inbox with male enhancement tips and promises of a better job by the Kellynch server's horrible spam filter. (I considered opening one titled 'F1ND Y0UR DR3AM J0B!!!!', but decided I didn't need to kill _this_ computer with a virus.) Only two were work-related – one from my secretary and another from Beth marked 'URGENT!'. Unfortunately, I was a tired villager and Beth was the boy (girl?) who cried wolf when it came to 'URGENT!' messages.

I read Tricia's e-mail first and immediately wished I hadn't.

To: .com_  
From: __.com__  
Subject: 7/6 meeting w/ Croft__  
Message:  
__Ann –__  
Meeting w/ Croft CEO, etc. confirmed. Will meet Robert Croft and Fredrick Wentworth 1:30 pm on 7/6/09 in conference room C.  
Reply w/ ?s._

_Trish  
-------------_  
**Tricia Harding**_  
Kellynch Company  
(312) 555-5555 x319_

I read the e-mail 4 times before my brain caught up to my pounding heart and clenched stomach.

My ex-fiancé was part of the company buying my father's company. My company.

Not cool.

About 8240982390482 questions flooded my mind. Why now? There were well over 6 billion people on the planet – and I couldn't avoid _one_? Had he gone to grad school? Had he ever visited the part of his mother's family that still lived in Germany? He must be the CFO, right? At 28? Who would he react? How would I react? Did he know I was running Kellynch? Was this offer some sort of revenge, proving I was the charity case, not him? What the hell was a going to _wear_?

I almost closed the window without reading Beth's allegedly 'URGENT!' message.

To: .com_  
From: __.com__  
Subject: URGENT!__  
Message:__  
Ann –  
Finally have offers on the apartments. The Crofts (of Croft Inc.) are subletting Dad's apartment and the wife's brother's moving into mine. His name's Freddy or something? Apparently he was at Kellynch 8 years ago as an intern? Thought you were there around the same time. Anyway, Daddy and I are going up to Door for a few weeks, maybe staying there permanently. Martha said you should come up when you're done with Maria._

_Beth_

Door County. Lovely. "The Cape Cod of the Midwest" – meaning _way_ too many tourists for my taste. They wouldn't last long without a Starbucks at every corner and daily visits to Macy's (formerly Marshall Fields). They'd be back in Chicago before the week was over.

Her mention of 'Freddy' didn't help my knotted stomach. Their apartments were only a few blocks from Kellynch's offices. That meant I could run into him at any time, once I was back at work.

My fingers seemed to have a mind of their own. They opened a new tab in Firefox and typed 'Fredrick Wentworth' into the search bar. The first link that came up was from Croft's website. A biography of the man I'd almost married.

_Fredrick Wentworth is the CFO of Croft Inc. He has been with the company since its inception in 2004…_

The photo caught me off guard. He was still as handsome as ever – maybe even more handsome. He wasn't as scrawny (although I'd liked the scrawniness). His hair was shorter, not the wind snarled curls of his youth. Even though it was a jpg file, my heart started dusting off the old dancing shoes.

Something trickled down my face and my vision blurred slightly. _Mein Gott_, I couldn't be _crying_. A glance toward the mirror on my right confirmed that I was.

I hadn't aged as well as Mr. Wentworth. I was pale and rather mousy looking, even more so than eight years ago. I'd developed very stubborn bags under my big hazel eyes that wouldn't go away, no matter how much sleep I got. I'd gained weight – when you had been surviving on Chinese and pizza and the only exercise you got was running around the office, though, it was to be expected. I'd been wearing my glasses more and more, desperate to get just two more minutes of sleep. My dark hair was a stubborn hybrid of straight and wavy and in dire need of a trim. Not that it mattered – it just got slapped back in a ponytail or bun everyday.

I could be 'cute' if I tried – hard. Maybe even almost pretty. But never beautiful or gorgeous or hot or whatever other adjectives men tossed out with Beth (and even Maria).

There were sounds of life upstairs and I slammed my MacBook shut, frantically drying my eyes with my sleeve.

"Weren't you wearing that last night?" Maria said as she entered the kitchen, clad in a pink robe covered in cartoon monkeys.

I wanted to snap, "I was tired last night!" but the message seemed to get lost on its way to my mouth. I shrugged instead.

"Are you crying?" There was no concern in her shrill voice. Just confusion and a little disgust.

"Allergies." I lied.

"Is that contagious?"

I refused to dignify that question with a response. Instead, I moved toward the stairs.

"Charles is in the shower." My sister said, destroying my escape plan, "Coffee?"

I accepted the hot beverage more than willingly.

"The Musgroves are coming by later. Hannah'll have pictures from Italy."

"I'd like to see them." I said over the rim of my Beloit College mug. It belonged to Chuck, actually, but I tried to steal it whenever I came.

"You've been to Italy, right?"

I shook my head and swallowed before answering, "Germany."

"Oh, right."

"Mornin', Mommy. Mornin', Aunt Annie." Aidan said sleepily as he and his twin padded into the kitchen.

"Morning, sweetheart." Maria cooed. Chuck appeared a few minutes later and I successfully escaped upstairs.

I found myself singing as I rinsed the shampoo out of my hair. That wasn't unusual, but I hadn't seen 'The King and I' in a long time. Probably since I introduced Fredrick to the wonders of Rogers and Hammerstein.

_Hello young lovers, whoever you are,__  
I hope your troubles are few.__  
All my good wishes are with you tonight,  
I've been in love like you._

_Be brave, young lovers, and follow your star,__  
Be brace and faithful and true.__  
Cling very close to each other tonight,  
I've been in love like you._

_I know how it feels to have wings on your heels,  
__And fly down the street in a trance,  
__You fly down a street on the chance that you meet,  
And you meet – not really by chance._

_Don't cry, young lovers, whatever you do,__  
Don't cry because I'm alone;__  
All of my memories are happy tonight,__  
I've had a love of my own.  
__I've had a love of my own, like yours –  
I've had a love of my own._

But despite Anna Leonowens' advice, I could taste the salt of my tear mixing with the steam of the shower.

**

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A/N**: 'Hello Young Lovers' popped into my head the other day and I realized it would fit pretty well with the lot of 'Persuasion'. It's a little melodramatic, but I figured Ann needed a good cry before Fredrick showed up – maybe next chapter? If not, the chapter after that. Thanks for the reviews! I'm not going to beg, but reviews _do_ keep me motivated. (Although, don't expect another chapter until next week.)


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I can fake a British accent – kind of. But I'm just playing in Ms. Austen's sandbox

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**Chapter Three: In Which We Meet Our Heroine's Ex-Fiancé**

When the Musgroves arrived later that morning, I learned several things:

1) Italy was gorgeous  
2) Shirtless Italian men made Maria squeal (even if the man in question was her sister-in-law's new boyfriend)  
3) Musgrove-Uppercross, the family's company, was also being sold to Croft.

A representative from the company would be arriving that week to discuss specifics, Charles "Charlie" Musgrove, Sr. told me. I tried to ignore the sense of foreboding that made my stomach knot up and my pulse race. If this kept up, I'd definitely be diagnosed with an anxiety disorder.

The rest of my weekend was spent with my nephews. Despite Maria's excessive collection of parenting books, she was unwilling to just get down on the floor and play with the twins. The Three 'A' Musketeers, as Chuck had christened Aidan, Ashton, and me, explored the African savannah and the age of the dinosaurs, with the help of some plastic animals and lots of imagination.

Fredrick had once said that I would be a natural mother. I'd laughed it off then – I'd never really dealt with small children outside of Maria, who had always tried to act older that she really was. But maybe he was right, I mused as I watched Ashton's T. Rex attack Aidan's purple stegosaurus.

Maria decided I was her personal slave when Monday rolled around. By Tuesday evening, we'd scrubbed the entire house until it was spotless – a task quickly undone when the twins arrived home from a play date. I tried to explain to a disheartened Maria that Martha Stewart-quality rooms were impossible with a pair of 4-year-old boys. She wasn't happy to hear it.

On Wednesday morning, she awoke feeling "ill". Chuck and I knew better than to believe her, but no amount of ignoring, bribing, or Rational Emotive Behavior Therapy could get her out of bed. She demanded I stay with her at all time, "in case I seize" – what was this, the 19th century? I could feel a few of my brain cells dying as we watched soap operas and reality TV.

By Thursday, Maria was "well" enough to sit outside and watch me play with her sons.

"You're so good with them, Ann. If you don't have a job after Kellynch sells, you can always be their governess."

I hoped I had better job offers than being a live-in babysitter for my nephews.

On Thursday night, Chuck returned from the office (he, too, worked for his father's company) to report that the "representative from Croft had arrived", a "nice young guy with a good head on his shoulders."

The CFO.

Fredrick Wentworth.

To stretch my nerves even further, the senior Musgroves were having a dinner party in Fredrick's honor and we were all invited.

Maria shook me awake at 6:30 Friday morning and demanded I help her pick out an outfit for the party. I managed to delay the decision for a while, but was forcefully dragged into her closet as soon as I swallowed my last bite of breakfast.

It took us nearly two hours to find a suitable outfit – evidently, my baby sister still shopped in the Junior's Department. After much sighing and the beginnings of a pounding headache, we found an appropriate-length skirt and a cute floral top.

Then, Maria turned the table on me. She declared herself my "fashion consultant" as she glared at my Cubs T-shirt and well-loved jeans. I was familiar with the term – Beth used it to mean I would be forced to try anything that might fit me from her closet.

Maria was a string bean, though, even after having twins. I was several inches shorter but probably weighed the same (or more – I'd been avoiding the scale lately). I had hips and boobs and big thighs. Nothing she owned was going to fit me.

Through careful negotiations (and some bribery with cookies), I convinced her that my favorite navy blue dress would be perfectly fine.

And then, disaster struck.

First, Ashton fell and scraped his knee, sending his mother into hysterics (either over the blood drops on the white carpet of her "poor, injured baby" – I wasn't sure which). After a Superman Band-Aid and a juice box, Ash was fine. Maria, on the other hand, took an hour-long nap to recover, cutting her precious prep time to a mere 5 hours.

Soon after Chuck arrived home, the babysitter's mother called. She (the babysitter, not her mom) had contracted food poisoning at lunch and would be indisposed that evening. Maria freaked, to put it nicely. She dialed everyone she knew in the tri-county area. But when she started calling the hospital to see if one of the nurses who'd helped with the twins' birth was available, I'd had enough.

"I'll do it."

"What?"

"I'll take care of the boys tonight."

She nearly knocked me to the floor with the force of her embrace. The phone went flying across the room, colliding with the back of Chuck's skull.

"Ow!" He yelped, "What was that for?"

Maria was still trying to deafen me with her squeals of "Thank you!" and ignored him.

And thus, I avoided my ex-fiancé for the time being. Watching Disney movies and eating macaroni and cheese was a perfectly acceptable alternative.

I was awakened at 2 am by a car door slamming and loud (drunken) laughter. Maria and Chuck stumbled in the front door. Someone had dropped them off – they were far too inebriated to walk a straight line, let alone drive.

"Freddy's sooooo hot, Annie." Maria slurred, collapsing onto the sofa. My stomach dropped to my toes. "You should meet him."

I managed to drag them upstairs and force them into their bedroom. Once the bedroom door was closed though, they were on their own. If they fell asleep on the floor, so be it. I wasn't in a good mood after Maria's comment.

I slept until 8:30 the next morning, when Aidan came in and asked for breakfast. I obliged, making them sloppy pancakes, getting them dressed and sending them outside to play.

I was looking over Kellynch's second quarter projections when there was a knock at the door.

"Hi." I said breathlessly as I opened the door. My heart froze for a moment as I recognized the long, lean frame, the wind-tousled curls, the bright green eyes.

"Hi." Fredrick Wentworth said, sounding just as awkward as I felt. "Um, Chuck and Maria got in all right?"

"Yeah. Oh! You dropped them off last night. Er, this morning."

"Yeah." We stood in uncomfortable silence until he spoke again, "Uh, Chuck and I are playing golf today."

"Okay." _Breathe, Elliot. Breathe. _"What time?"

"Tee time's at 10 and…"

"The nearest golf course is half and hour away." I finished for him, "I'll get him."

I halted at the bottom of the stairs, my brain suddenly connective Fredrick to the sport of golf.

"You hate golf."

He shrugged. "It comes with the territory."

"Chuck. Chuck!" I poked my brother-in-law cautiously.

"Wha'?" He bolted upright and grabbed at his head, "Oh, geez."

"Fredrick Wentworth's downstairs."

He stared blankly at me.

"Golf?" I prompted.

"Dammit! What time is it?"

"9:15."

"Shit! Are the boys up? God, how could I…"

"They're playing. I got them breakfast."

"You're a lifesaver, Annabelle."

I wrinkled my nose in disgust at the nickname, "Don't get used to it."

Fredrick was waiting in the kitchen, watching Aidan and Ashton play in the mud.

"Their mother's going to have a fit." I said, sipping my tea.

"Let her." He advised, turning toward me, "Whatcha been up to Annie?"

The familiar nickname combined with his deep, comforting voice made my heart falter again. I didn't know any words to explain in English. Only the German word _Gemütlichkeit_ came close to describing this.

"College." And then, as an afterthought, "And Kellynch. I'm basically running it."

"You said you'd never go back there."

"It's kind of hard not to, when your dad won't pay for grad school or let you work for anyone else." It was still easy to talk with him – too easy.

"Listen, I'm sorry about this deal -"

"Don't be. You're taking a huge risk on us." Business – a safe, neutral topic.

"You got any questions or anything?

"Do my employees had jobs on September 30?"

"Yeah." He blinked, surprised, "Of course. You've got a position, too."

"I don't need to be promised anything."

"Because we all know how well you deal with promises." He might as well have driven a steel spike through my heart.

"Do you want coffee?' I offered stiffly.

"Annie." _Oh, no you don't, Buddy. I'm not falling for the pathetic "Annie" routine again_.

"Tea?"

"That was a low blow, Annie. I'm sorry." _Dammit. That was genuine._

The floor above us creaked.

"They know?" Fredrick asked, nodding at the ceiling.

"About us? No one knows."

"Except Martha." He grumbled.

I didn't reply.

"You just trying to sweep me under the rug? Forget any of this happened?"

"I don't want to remember!" The words came out of my mouth without any editing.

Fredrick winced. "Thanks, Annie. Way to boost a guy's confidence."

"That came out wrong. But when I replay those memories in my mind – even the happiest ones – I know how it ends. And I don't want to experience that part again."

"You grew up, Annie. You're talking about your emotions now." He meant for it to be a joke, but somehow it sounded condescending to my hypersensitive ears.

There was silence until I found the nerve to speak.

"I never had the chance to apologize. But I'm sorry, Fritz." His nickname flowed off my tongue far too easily.

"It's 8 years too late, Ann."

"It broke my heart." My voice was tiny. Weak. Fragile.

"You're the one responsible for that." He turned away as he spoke, but I heard every word. My heart contracted painfully.

There were footsteps on the stairs. Chuck appeared, looking pretty good for having a killer hangover.

"Ready to go, Fred?"

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**A/N:** _Gemütlichkeit_ - a German abstract noun that has been adopted into English and connotes the notion of belonging, social acceptance, cheerfulness, the absence of anything hectic and the opportunity to spend quality time. The closest English translation is 'coziness'. (from Wikipedia)

Thanks for the reviews! Fredrick's appearance will have to tide you over for a while – AP tests start next week. AH!


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